


Cave Canem

by lindenmae



Series: The Highland Hound series [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenmae/pseuds/lindenmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has only recently given up his life as a gladiator to be the mate of a Highland Hound - wolf-men he had always believed were a myth.  He doesn't know his boundaries yet and some of the other Hounds don't know theirs either, but Arthur made him a promise when they first mated in the arena with the audience watching.  He would never let anyone hurt Eames again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cave Canem

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Attempted non-con. Naked and wet men beating each other up. Violence. Mentions of slavery. Mentions of incest/inbreeding. Possessive!Arthur/ Reluctant!Eames. Everyone is bleeding all of the time in this fic. Rewriting history as I go along. Allusions to the subjugation of an entire species? (race?) - the Hounds don't actually have the same rights as humans even though Eames feels like the oppressed one in this fic. I don't even know.

The myth of the Highland Hounds has been used for ages to scare errant babes into behaving, to keep the arrogant youth from pushing too hard against their boundaries. The Highland Hounds are the other, the embodiment of the dangers faced by venturing too far from civilization’s bosom. Eames understood from a very young age that the Hounds were just a story, that there were real threats in the world but that those threats did not come from bloodthirsty wolf-men. He believed this as a child and became even more convinced when the empire marched to and then over the edge of his village and he was forced to fight before he was ready, desperate to save the only life he’d ever known. He believed the Hounds were just a myth as he flitted from camp to camp, getting revenge for his village gold piece by each gold piece that he managed to pluck from the pockets of unsuspecting legionnaires. He believed in its falsehood after he was caught and forced to fight for his life in the arena day after day, month after month. He believed it until he was sent into a fight he had no hope of winning. The day that Arthur forced him face first into the sand and claimed him, _mated_ him, Eames was forced to forget everything he thought he knew about the Highland Hounds.

The stories painted them as carnal beasts who knew no better than to fight and fuck with unbridled passion. They were animals in the shape of men, all of them impossibly beautiful until their true natures shone through. Many a man, it was said, who had made the mistake of traveling to No Man’s Isle and had stumbled upon the Hounds, had been duped by their majestic appearance only to lose their lives to the Hound’s sharp teeth and pointed claws. And carnal they are, Eames finds, and just as passion-ruled as the myths proclaim. After staking his claim by fucking him in the arena, Arthur fucks Eames through his heat in the privacy of their rooms. Not an inch of the space is spared from their lovemaking, from the sweat coating their skin and the come leaking from their cocks. There are scratches across Eames’s chest, over his pecks and abs and down his ribcage, and bite marks ringing his neck and in the meat of his shoulders. If half the Empire’s nobility had not seen him claimed in the arena, they would all know it now by the debauched state of his appearance. He has killed opponents in the arena who were carted away with fewer injuries than he currently wears, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

It takes months to travel from one end of the Empire to the other by horseback, a day to cross the whole city. The Emperor’s palace sits at the far edge, it’s back nestled in the foothills of the mountains and protected that way. On either side of the palace and directly in front of it, between the palace and the city limits, lies the Hounds’ compound. Anyone wishing to see the Emperor must pass through the compound with a bodyguard to protect them from the Hounds. But it is usually just for show. The Hounds are allowed into the city but most prefer to remain inside the compound with their own and their human mates. The compound is beautiful and open, marble columns lining the halls and silk curtains separating the rooms. The compound has its own baths supplied by a natural hot spring that flows from the mountain and it’s there that Eames finds himself just a day after Arthur’s heat is finished, trying to soothe the ache from his muscles and wrap his mind around the sudden and radical change in direction his life has taken.

He sheds the loose cotton pants he had put on only for the slow walk over here, mindful of some modesty even if the Hounds are not - within the compound, the females wear thin linen sheaths draped over their shoulders and the males often wear nothing at all – and slides into the water, his breath catching in his chest at the blissful warmth. His body aches from what he has endured the past few days but in a way that he must admit is pleasant. He feels thoroughly abused but he has no regrets. Any thoughts of his mating with Arthur cause his cock to stir weakly, nothing left in it but still proof that he enjoyed every minute of it. Eames knows he is lucky that this was the outcome of their meeting because Arthur would have killed him otherwise. Arthur is half his size but he was in heat and the part of him that is human was far overwhelmed by the part that is entirely animal. 

The water is crystal clear and as Eames slowly scrubs himself with a rough piece of cloth, he can see the slight reddish brown tinge to the water immediately around him before it dissipates and settles clear again. He slipped away while Arthur was sleeping, needing some space to himself to gather his bearings. This compound is his home now after half of his life not having one. He’ll never have to worry about stealing to feed himself or where is the safest to sleep at night. On the other hand, he’ll never bed another slave girl after a successful bought in the arena, the oil she rubbed into his skin before the battle easing the slide of his cock between her legs. There won’t be any more of the noble women and young men who found it thrilling to spend a night with a gladiator while their husbands and fathers drank themselves into a stupor. It seems that his days of doing the fucking are done. The thought of dominating Arthur sends a thrill through him that his cock strives and cannot quite react to, but he doesn’t know if that is a plausible dream.

Once he’s clean, he sinks to his shoulders and lets his head rest against the warm marble steps and closes his eyes, welcoming the way the sun’s rays lull him to sleep. The sound of footsteps slapping against the wet marble wakes him what may be hours or only moments later and he angles his head so that he can watch Arthur approaching. He smiles almost reflexively when he sees the Hound, whose hair is falling in loose, dark curls over his shoulders and whose only cover seems to be a sheer loincloth hanging low on his hips. The sun behind Arthur’s head casts his body in a shadow that obscures his face, creating the effect of a halo around his head and preventing Eames from realizing that it is not Arthur at all until it is too late. 

The Hound leers at him from the edge of the pool and though Eames isn't afraid, there is a heavy unease in his gut. He tenses but doesn’t move away just yet. This Hound hasn’t shown any aggression yet but there is a predatory look in his eyes that sets Eames’s heart to pounding against his ribcage. The edge of the Hound’s upper lip curls over one fang and he moves a hand to slide the loincloth from his hips. He is taller than Arthur but thinner, somewhat gangly where Arthur is a tight bundle of muscle. Up close, his hair is clearly longer as well and unkempt, but the resemblance is there. Eames can’t blame himself for the mistake.

When the Hound exposes himself, Eames takes it upon himself to move away, so that he is facing the Hound with his shoulders curled ever so slightly inward to guard himself. This action only brings a mocking smile to the Hound’s face and Eames’s heart begins to thump double time. The Hound’s movements are fluid but his eyes are wild, tinged red with what Eames’s human imagination can only decide is bloodlust. His fangs are long and yellowed and there is dried blood and dirt staining his claws. The picture he presents is wholly unlike the one Eames first had of Arthur, who was still somehow majestic even bound and overrun with the desire to fight or fuck. This Hound is not under the spell of a heat. This Hound is what the Emperor spoke of when he reminded Eames of the stories he knew as a boy. This Hound looks like a man, but he is not one; he is an animal acting on baser instincts that humans have learned to ignore and that a glorious creature like Arthur has learned to tamp down. It’s unsettling how much the Hound resembles Arthur as he steps closer, sliding into the water, eyes on Eames the entire time. But he isn’t Arthur and suddenly there is fear creeping like ice up Eames’s spine, making him shiver despite the heat of the water. 

When the Hound lunges, Eames moves by reflex, muscle memory ingrained into him after years of hard living. He knows how to fight, it’s the only reason he’s still alive, and even submerged in water he is strong and a warrior. The Hound’s claws sink into the meat of his bicep even as he brings his other arm up to punch, knuckles connecting with the solid bone of the Hound’s skull. The Hound growls and slashes, raking his claws down Eames’s arm and staining the water red with his blood. Eames tries to leverage himself out of the water as much as he can, exposing his torso but enabling him to move faster and to get more power behind his attacks. He hits the Hound again, connecting with his jaw and snapping his head back with a sickening crack. He stumbles backward in the water just an inch but it’s enough to allow Eames to move. Unfortunately Eames isn’t quick enough, something he learned the hard way fighting Arthur. He has brute force and a good eye for gauging his opponent’s next attack, but the Hounds are naturally swift in a way that Eames just can’t be with his bulk and his duller senses and the Hound is back on him before he can lever himself out of the pool, pulling him back down. The Hound’s eyes are fully red now, angry, and his mouth is open and ready to bite. His claws dig into the meat of Eames’s back and his shoulders and his stomach in rapid swipes until every inch of him burns. He keeps punching though and kicking now, but his kicks are less effective with the water slowing him down. Thankfully this Hound is not as strong as Arthur and lacks his finesse. He is tiring just as quickly as Eames, bruises beginning to appear on his olive skin where Eames has hit him and his breath coming labored from a potentially broken rib. 

Eames thinks he might have gained the upper hand as he manages to push the Hound’s head beneath the surface of the water and hold it there, but he hasn’t restrained the Hound’s hands and he feels the sting of claws digging into his thigh before he sees the Hound’s thrashing turn into calculated movements. Eames flinches and releases his hold immediately as the Hound swipes desperately for his cock, knowing it will be the gladiator's weakest point. Eames kicks out and connects with the Hound’s shoulder and uses that extra lift as leverage to scramble for the edge of the pool. He doesn’t hear anyone approach over the roaring in his ears, but then there is a splash that he didn’t create and the water is absolutely roiling. He gets out and gets a safe distance before he looks back to make sure the Hound isn’t following and what he sees makes his heart stop. There are two brown heads in the water now, two lithe bodies scrambling against each other as the froth turns red. The first Hound is naked and losing but still fighting desperately, but the second is clothed in tight leather pants that Eames immediately recognizes. Arthur gains dominance quickly and bodily hauls the first Hound from the pool, throwing him to the ground with enough force to break a bone. There is water dripping from his hair and spittle flying from his lips as he snarls and throws himself upon his opponent.

“I will kill you,” Arthur shouts as he pommels the first Hound, landing punch after punch. “You don’t touch what’s mine. You _shit_ , you worthless trash. I will _kill you_ for hurting him.”

The first Hound lashes out desperately and manages to knock Arthur off balance. They grapple on the wet ground, sliding against the marble, clawing and biting whatever they can. It takes only minutes, it seems to Eames, maybe seconds before his mind has decided that he must intervene before Arthur gets hurt, but even as he takes the first step forward there is someone else calling out.

“Arthur! Arthur stop! You’ll kill him!”

“I know!” Arthur growls, breath uneven, before the first Hound mistakenly leaves his neck open and Arthur surges up to sink his teeth into the skin there, making the Hound howl in pain.

“Damnit! Separate them!” The newcomer shouts before wading in himself to try and pull Arthur away.

It’s a stupid move, trying to break up a dogfight, but it’s Cobb Eames realizes belatedly, only recognizing his uniform. Arthur listens to Cobb Eames has already noticed even in his short time within the compound. Arthur won’t hurt Cobb. That’s the only reason that Arthur gives and quits struggling before the other Hound does, because he has the ability to think rationally and he won’t hurt Cobb. 

It takes four soldiers to subdue the other Hound and get him restrained. They lock his wrists into leather straps secured to his body by a leather belt around his waist, just like what Arthur had been wearing when he was first brought into the arena, then they effectively muzzle him with another bit of leather that snaps at the back of his head and is secured to a metal grate over his mouth. His eyes are still red and wild and he struggles against the soldiers and his bonds even as his energy is clearly draining. Long gashes run up his sides and his legs, dripping blood and his long hair is caked with it.

“Take him to the physician. Yusuf will sedate him and dress his wounds. Keep him caged until further notice,” Cobb commands to the soldiers before dismissing the rest.  
The entire time the soldiers have been struggling the other Hound, Eames has been watching Cobb soothe Arthur, feeling out of place and oddly jealous. The General has his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, running his palms up and down Arthur’s arms and murmuring to him like Eames had watched him do in the arena before. “He is your brother, Arthur. You would have regretted it.”

“He tried to take what is _mine_. _My mate_. I will not let anyone hurt what is mine.” Arthur’s eyes dart over to Eames then and he shrugs Cobb’s hands away. He practically bounds across the short distance between them until he is just in front of Eames and can run his fingers over Eames’s skin, as if to be sure he is real.

Eames releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and nearly goes boneless, suddenly feeling safer than ever now that Arthur is near him and touching him and alive.

“You should both come with me to the physician,” Dom says, arms crossed over his breastplate.

“No,” Arthur grounds out immediately, not taking his eyes off of Eames, still tracing every cut and scrape on his body with light fingertips.

“You’re hurt,” Cobb argues. “You’re _both_ hurt.”

Playing to his protective nature over Eames softens Arthur a bit, but Eames suddenly wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist and pulls him close, looking to Dom.

“Perhaps not yet? Let us have a moment, yeah? We’ll both live if we don’t go immediately. S’probably best for the other one as well if Arthur isn’t in the same room with him anytime soon, right?”

Dom looks like he wants to argue but instead he sighs and nods, uncrossing his arms and turning to go. “Just promise me that you will go and maybe the Emperor won’t have to hear about this.”

“Thank you, General,” Eames responds for them both, since Arthur is too busy trying to bury his face into the crook of Eames’s neck.

“You shouldn’t have come here without me,” Arthur chastises once Dom is out of earshot, but there’s no anger in his voice. He sounds only upset, as if he is picturing the course of events had he not shown up when he did. 

It rubs Eames the wrong way, to think the long leash of the gladiator that he thought had been removed has, in fact, only been tightened, but he doesn’t say anything. It is safer not to upset Arthur any further, and he finds that he doesn’t want to anyway. He wants to soothe Arthur the way that Cobb had, to make him stop hurting. He doesn’t know what to say, because he wants to argue that he’s not Arthur’s possession but he doesn’t know that’s true. He wasn’t quite a slave before but he wasn’t free, and now it seems he’s doomed to more of the same. Not a servant but not the master of his own life either.

“Is that how it is then? I’m not to leave your bed without your permission?” His voice is hard but he doesn’t take his arms from around Arthur, in fact holds him tighter without truly thinking. Arthur is warm and beneath the iron scent of blood, he smells like home somehow – like the woods and the soil surrounding the village that Eames was born in. He smells like warm sandalwood and sweat and even though Eames wants to demand his space, he never wants to let Arthur go.

Arthur doesn’t let him make any demands, forcefully pulling away just enough to look Eames in the eyes, his irises liquid brown with no trace of scarlet in them. “I have to protect you.”

“Because I belong to you?” Eames pushes even though he knows he should stop.

“You are not my possession,” Arthur says slowly, squinting, slowly beginning to understand but not entirely there.

“I’m not? But I’m not free to go where I choose. I’m a prisoner then.”

Arthur is growing frustrated trying to follow Eames’s thoughts, it’s clear in the furrow of his elegant brow. Eames presses his thumb to it to smooth the wrinkle away without processing the decision and Arthur turns his head into the touch, following Eames hand until he begins to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“Why are you unhappy?” Arthur asks, butting up into Eames’s hand with every pass over his head. “I want you to be happy. This is your home now.”

“It isn’t my home though, Arthur. I can’t be at home in a place where I’m not free to walk around without worrying about having my throat ripped out.”

Arthur steps away from him then, face gone hard. He looks down, chewing on his lower lip with a fang, and begins to pluck at the laces of his pants. There is a cod piece laced over the crotch that had been left bare when they fought, and does not exaggerate the size of him at all. When he peels away the leather, it comes off like a second skin revealing that his cock is hard from adrenaline, angry and red and curving up towards his belly. He slips into the water silently once he’s completely naked and then he looks at Eames, silently asking with his eyes for Eames to join him. 

When Eames settles back into the pool, the water stinging just slightly at his cuts, Arthur glides over to him and settles in his lap without being asked or invited but knowing he’s not unwelcome. It is a thing Arthur does, expecting Eames’s space to automatically be his also. He touches Eames constantly, curls around him tightly while they sleep, and crawls into his lap for no reason at all other than to be close to him. And Eames doesn’t push him away, doesn’t even want to, just wraps his own limbs around Arthur in turn, until there would be no telling where one ends and the other begins to a stranger outside of the pool.

“I promised I would never let anyone hurt you again and I failed,” Arthur says sadly, lips brushing against Eames’s collar bone. 

“Is this how it’s going to be always, Arthur? Am I going to have to hold your hand anytime I want to see the sun? A slave has more freedom.”

“ _No_. No. This is your _home_. But you don’t know how to live here yet.” Arthur shifts, trying to press himself even more tightly against Eames’s chest, rolling his hips until their cocks rub together and Eames gasps. “You have to be careful. I would have told you about Nash and the others. Nash is my half-brother and his mother was our father's half-sister. He's smart but he doesn't think before he acts, just takes what he wants unless he _knows_ the repercussions will be painful. And there are plenty of others like him. They need to see us together before you can go off alone. They need to know that you’re mine and they can’t have you.”

“Arthur…”

“Please don’t leave me,” Arthur whines quietly, his eyes screwed shut and pressed against the side of Eames’s neck where he can’t look into them. Eames wonders how many sides of Arthur there are for him to discover – the ultra-violent Hound, the possessive alpha male, and now this. It hadn’t quite occurred to him that Arthur might have been _afraid_.

He presses his lips to Arthur’s hair though it still smells of blood, and settles his hands on Arthur’s hips, gently encouraging the slow roll that Arthur has taken up until both of their cocks are straining and aching. Apparently close proximity to Arthur is all that Eames’s cock needs to regain interest in fucking.

“Shh, I’m not going to leave you,” Eames whispers as Arthur’s movements become frantic, their cocks slipping and sliding together but with not enough friction to bring them to orgasm. Sad, little plaintive whines keep escaping from Arthur’s throat and Eames can’t bear the sound of them - like a dog that’s been kicked by its master and doesn’t know what it’s done wrong. 

He brings one palm up to cup Arthur’s chin and tilt his head back, forcing Arthur to look at him, and he whispers to him again while looking him right in the eyes and then kisses him. This is apparently the encouragement that Arthur needs, because he picks up his pace, reaching down between them to wrap a hand around their cocks, squeezing them together. Eames chokes on a gasp that Arthur immediately swallows, the tips of his fangs pricking at Eames’s lips. It doesn’t take very long, not much left in either of them after Arthur’s heat, but after Arthur comes he scoops some of their mixed semen from the surface of the pool and rubs it into Eames’s skin all along his collarbones and onto his neck where his pulse is jumping. It’s just another way for Arthur to claim him before he wraps himself around Eames as tightly as he possibly can and refuses to let go. Eames only feels the urge to kiss him fiercely for it. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into but he does know there is no turning back.


End file.
